The Last
by Elizabeth Rowland
Summary: Six, perhaps seven centuries after the war has finished, the last from that era meet as they often have. No idea what this is, just read it and find out. The rating's just to be safe.


**A/N** This is set in pretty much the extreme future, so the characters have a right to be OOC since they would have grown and changed during that time. So please don't bother saying that they aren't in character because they aren't suposed to be, this is what I think they would become given the time an the sircustances. Thank you and enjoy.

**T he Last**

Was it cold? She could not really tell anymore. Her body was always cold. But those who milled about beneath her through the midnight city seemed to be well wrapped up, so it must have been cold. Oh well, no matter.

The darkness was a comfort to her, but it was the cover of those bellow, of those in the seedy streets going about their disreputable business. They could not see her, she was at the top of a two hundred story building, but she could see them. She could see them effortlessly. Her death some six centuries ago had ensured that. Or was it seven centuries? She had stopped keeping count for quite some time, but He would know, He always knew.

She took in a deep and unnecessary breath then watched it billow out from between her lips as mist. So there was some warmth left in her. Oh she knew that she still held the warmth of magic and some small warmth in her heart. But she had thought true physical warmth had fled her. To think, when she had still been human she would have been lucky to spot a witch or wizard in the crowds below. Now however such a thing as a muggle was something to scare children with. Something soulless that would kill for seemingly no reason. A small smile touched her naturally black lips. She had never thought that the turn of the war would have been good for the world, but it had been. Far better than leaving it to stagnate.

The neon lights where still glaring their advertisements and deceptive illumination when she caught His scent, but she didn't turn to face Him. Sometimes she thought that the people bellow would fair better in this place without those lights that cast such strong shadows. So good for the business of those like her. But then how would they mask the poor quality of the stolen goods for sale.

Finally He came to stand beside her and watch the crowd. He was still tall and lithe she noted. Still with those burning, snake like red eyes, only they were more wise now than intimidating, yet they remained the only reminder that he had once had the appearance of an inhuman monster. His skin was still paler then hers, which was quite a feat considering the fact that she had not seen sun light for many centuries. His black hair was longer than the last time she saw him though, it hung to his earlobes now, letting the single silver snake ear ring he always wore gleam in the moon light. His clothes, as always were dark, but not black. No, he favoured colours that were tinged to appear grey and only show through in certain light. But he shied away from extravagance and tradition. Simple trousers, a shirt and jacket had been his usual attire for quite some time. He was handsome, so much so that she was sure her heart would flutter if it could still beat.

He took a deep breath and began to rub his hands together for warmth. So it was cold, she noted dully.

"Hermione," he greeted, his voice still that perfect purr that had evolved from the repulsive rasping hiss he once had.

"Voldemort," she replied, allowing him to see her slight smile. Which he returned easily as he took in her appearance just as he always did. Noting any change that might have happened.

She still looked to be about twenty seven; she still had snow white skin, she still wore much the same clothes; black knee high boots, leather trousers and cotton shirt under an elegantly embroidered coat that blew about in the slight breeze with the only difference in them being the cut of the fabric which had changed with the fashions. And her chocolate brown hair was still tied back in untameable curls. Her eyes still that beautiful shade of amber that he loved so much and still with all the vitality and curiosity that was always there. The day she grew world weary was the day the world wasn't worth existing in. And she was still short, only reaching his chin. But that was something else he loved about her, she was small yet deadly.

"How long has it been?" The same question as always, yet he never tired of it and he always knew what she wanted to know. How long since the end of the war.

"Seven hundred and thirty four years." Then he chuckled at the shocked expression on her face.

"That long? I though it had only been six centuries."

"You are truly terrible at keeping track of time." She grinned up at him girlishly, exposing her neat pearly white canines, elongated into fangs. "What name do you go by now?"

"Scarlet," it suited her he decided as soon as he heard it. "You?"

"Dante." She smiled again, lighting her face in the moon light.

"Is that because of your Devil May Cry attitude?" He rolled his eyes at her reference to a centuries forgotten video game. She always did that and it made him wonder.

"Do you miss the old world?" She frowned in thought and turned her attention back to the unlawful crowd below.

"I miss parts of it," she answered slowly. "I miss the music, the people and the manga. Oh Merlin knows how much I miss manga!" He couldn't help it, he had to chuckle again. He well remembered her addiction to it and how devastated she had been when it began to fade out of society about three hundred years ago.

"Manga? Or just yaoi?" He teased as she bit her lips gently so as not to draw blood and looked away guiltily.

"What about you? Do you miss anything?" He looked at her, hoping she would turn his way and see the contentment coupled with longing that gleamed in his unearthly eyes.

"I can honestly say I don't."

"There are other things I miss as well. I miss Snapes caustic tongue, Dracos smirk. The way Ron could always cheer me up no matter what. I even miss the way that we were constantly getting into trouble regardless of what we had actually done." She paused for a while, obviously basking in the memories of her human life. "But I don't miss any of those things enough to want it back . . . except perhaps the manga."

"What about the light of day?" She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, those eyes of hers shining in the starlight. "Surly you miss the feel of the sun on your skin?"

"All of my kind miss the sun. Why do you think very few of us reach the age I have? They all want to feel the sun, just one last time."

He watched her, hoping that her one last time would not be soon. He would truly miss her. Oh how the irony bit into him for that. The Dark Lord, opposed to all muggles and muggleborns, disgusted with those who mixed there blood in any way, was now hopelessly in love with the only muggleborn left on the planet. Not only that she needed to continuously mix her blood to survive. And she hadn't even noticed. Most likely didn't even care.

"We're the last you know," she mumbled, interrupting his thoughts. "A hunter caught Remus three years ago. Speared his heart with silver."

"I know," he answered solemnly. "He will be missed." Even with her looking away he could see the tears glimmer in her eyes. They had been good friends for almost their entire lives, and certainly their un-lives. Often travelling together for years at a time. The former werewolf had been a good man and had reached immortality when a vampire had given him some of her blood to turn him into a Lycanthrope, an immortal werewolf who could change at will. She had died a mere century after that if he remembered rightly.

"They are all missed, not for being a reminder of our early time, but for their friendship." He, Hermione and Remus had not been the only ones to reach immortality. There had been almost twenty others, Severus, Draco, Ron Weasly and his sister Ginny, and Pansy Parkinson where only some of them. But they had all been killed or committed suicide one by one over the years.

"That they are." It was odd to think that he and Hermione were the last. Most had thought he would die earlier, when he tired of ruling, but he had simply faked death and left to live many other different lives. All of which he had wished Hermione had been a part of. And why not this life? Why not ask Scarlet to be part of his life as Dante? What harm could there be from it?

But speaking it was harder than thinking it. She could easily tell him that it could not be done because of what she was. But what if that was part of her reason for being with him? The sun. She wanted to feel the sunlight again. But if she did, she would die. And he would truly be the last. The last and without Hermione to speak with every few decades. He doubted he would last long without her there.

"If there was a way to see the sun again, would you do it?"

"There is a way and it involves bursting into flames. Something I'm not quite ready for yet. Soon perhaps, but not yet." He could almost hear what she was thinking. With almost all of her friends gone was there really much point in staying to watch history happen?

"But if there was a way without dying?"

"Then I would take it. Why?" Now it was his turn to look away. He wanted to tell her the true motive behind this, but there was time for that, there would always be time when that was all you really had.

"Why not come with me to find that way?"

She smiled; at last he was ready to do something about what his heart was telling him. It had taken him long enough. A century or so at least. But she had seen the way he looked at her, a look he had never bestowed upon anyone else. Well, he might be prepared to sit and take things so slowly, she however, was not. Not with the strength of the Call of the Sun that she could feel. She would not take the risk that it would snare her tomorrow and that she would never have kissed him.

"I will come with you, but only one condition." His heart soared; he would have the chance to spend a small part of his eternity with her. At last.

"Name it," perhaps he had spoken a little too eagerly, or at least he suspected as much from her raised eyebrow and amused smirk.

"I get the left side of the bed." She smiled as he laughed, it was a nice sound. Far better than that horrid cackle that had stuck with him for his first two hundred or so years. He had actually been embarrassed to laugh then, but now he did so freely.

He had changed, she realised with a start. Changed so much she could hardly associate who he had been with who he was now. Was this really the man who had killed her friend all those years ago? Was this really the man who had killed and tortured without batting so much as an eyelash? But he had changed slowly, so slowly it had been hard to notice. Though she should have noticed with the first disapproving look he shot her way when she showed up at one of their gatherings with a drop of blood at the corner of her mouth. Yet there were pieces of the old man still in him. His often biting sense of humour, his talent for the Dark Arts, his insatiable thirst for knowledge. But these where parts of him that she liked, almost loved.

Odd, that they should be the last. Especially when they had been the first.

**A/N **First and probably only one shot ever, but the idea wouldn't leave me alone so I figured I'd share it. I hope you liked it and please review. Imaginary chocolate for everyone who does.


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